


Universe

by yeaka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 17:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15054503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: It all makes sense now.





	Universe

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He just... _can’t handle it._ Victor’s too talented, too gorgeous, too _real_. He has no business being in Yuuri’s space, and as long as he is, Yuuri can’t even seem to _breathe_ right. His heart’s always speeding so fast that it feels like it might beat right out of his chest. When Victor knocks on his door at night, then _bursts right in_ , Yuuri practically passes out. He turns that shock into faux-paralysis, pretending to be asleep in some bizarre, embarrassing self-defense move. He’s sure it must be obvious that he’s faking. But Victor just whispers, “Yuuri?” and when he gets no answer, he leaves.

And Yuuri’s left there blushing hotly all over his body, just wondering what’s wrong with him. He’s acutely aware of all the _Victor_ posters and memorabilia tucked under his bed. He’s such an _idiot_.

Between that knowledge and his difficult pulse, it’s impossible to sleep. After what seems like hours, Yuuri gives up. He makes himself climb out of bed, because if he stays there any longer, his own thoughts will do him in. He thinks of going to _Victor’s_ room, to ask what Victor wanted this deep into the night, but he tells himself he’s just going to the hot springs. 

He putters down the hall, still in his pajamas and socks, while the rest of the place sleeps in silence. A thin mumble of noise garbles out of the slightly ajar door near the end, and it isn’t until Yuuri’s nearly there that he realizes that’s Victor’s room. And the voice is Victor’s, even though it sounds... different.

He pulls to a stop just outside the thin crack between wall and door. Inside, the room’s lighter than the hallway—the window lets out into the stars and moon, at least enough to shower Victor in that glow, where he’s sitting on the floor, turned ever so slightly away. At least, that’s what Yuuri thinks at first—he’s stumbled onto some ethereal, heavenly beauty: all of Victor’s natural attraction bathed in moonlight—the sort of thing other fans would pay _anything_ for. Except that the longer he looks, the more incongruous that seems—Victor’s glow isn’t coming from the window. Just _him_.

Victor’s... _glowing_. Yuuri’s eyes widen behind his glasses. But that’s not the only thing.

Victor’s speaking in another language, and Yuuri’s traveled enough to know that it’s not Russian. It’s some strange, melodic verse that sounds almost like a song, the ‘words’ all stringing together as the pitch changes. Victor holds a tiny metal orb in his fingers, and if it weren’t for that, for the sound obscuring every time those fingers lightly pinch and cover it, Yuuri wouldn’t realize that the second sound was coming from it. That secondary sound is Victor’s _voice_ —the usual one that Yuuri knows, echoing back alongside what comes out of his mouth. The dual effect is borderline disorienting—Yuuri can’t help but wonder if he really did fall asleep, and this is all an odd yet relatively uneventful dream.

When he picks out just the orb’s echo, he can piece together what it’s saying. The more he stares at it, the clearer that familiar voice becomes. Victor holds a strange device up to his mouth that Yuuri had thought was his phone, but Victor’s words make him question that. 

Victor’s saying, “No. It’s going better than ever, really— _I’m_ the coach now, so the observation’s on my terms.” Yuuri pauses, leaning a little closer, not enough to touch the door and make it creak, but enough to be sure that’s what he’s hearing. “And instead of many others on the rink speculating about me, it’s just one, and he’s very sweet—no, I know I’m not supposed to get too close, but he already accepts me—yes, I know they all do, but this one accepts me on a _personal_ level, yes?” Another pause, slightly longer this time, and Victor sighs, “I understand the risks...”

Both voices go quiet as a single, uninterrupted song spills out of the ‘phone.’ Yuuri has no idea what it’s saying, but he doesn’t have to—he’s busy trying to process what he heard. He’s assuming he’s the ‘one,’ which means Victor thinks _he’s sweet_ , which makes his heart hammer so loud that he worries Victor will hear it. When the phone finally stops, Victor chirps, “No, my translator’s working fine—it’s the ship that’s off, then; you keep your first accent here, even if you live in another region—I don’t know, no one’s explained why there’s an accent and language for every place! ...Well, I can hardly ask when I’m supposed to _be_ one of them...” 

Another tirade from the phone. Yuuri doesn’t at all understand what he’s hearing. He had no idea Victor was using any kind of translator, and he has no idea what ‘ship’ Victor’s talking about—he’s been following Victor for his entire career, and he’s never heard anything about Victor having an interest in boating. The rest is all just gibberish. Yuuri waits, straining to hear more, until Victor bursts: “But I already met all the skating humans! This way I can meet even more, and it’s not suspicious—coaches give interviews, organize with the rink owners—the owners? People that own the ice. No, I don’t understand either...”

 _Humans_. As Victor trails off, that word repeats in Yuuri’s head, because what a _weird_ way to say it. He always knew Victor was a _little_ weird, but this bilingual phone call is something else. He can accept that he’s probably wrong about the lighting, that the language must be just one he never heard of and Victor has some sort of audio translator device that Yuuri’s bizarrely mixing up with a tiny silver orb, but ‘humans’?

“Well, that’s just the thing,” Victor chuckles, but it sounds throatier than usual. “See, we don’t have anyone _born_ here. Maybe they’ll get better results. I know you haven’t completed the breeding compatibility tests yet, but if Yuuri and I could—”

Victor pauses just in time for Yuuri’s head to practically _explode_. He did _not_ just hear his name and ‘breeding’ in the same sentence. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Victor was watching some ridiculous sci-fi movie on his phone and just reciting the lines. Except with their names. And a sincere, genuine belief that he’s... _not human._

He couldn’t have meant a _space_ ship. He just couldn’t have. Yuuri casts another furtive look about the room, and once he spots Makkachin, he starts trying to will the poor poodle up, hoping that this’ll devolve into a completely logical man-and-dog scene instead. Except Makkachin keeps sleeping soundly, and Victor keeps talking like a complete alien. 

“Why not?” Victor suddenly whines, voice as expressive as ever—Yuuri dizzily wonders if Victor’s from a whole race of people as graceful but silly as him. “But I’m already close to—no, not that Yuri! Yuuri! He’s an adult by their standards! And he’s really nice and cute, and not so much worse at skating than most humans; I think I can get him up to our st—Commander, I said I know—of course I’m being careful—they totally don’t suspect—”

Victor pulls slightly back from his phone and proceeds to blow over it, then cheerily lies, “Sorry, I’m losing your signal! Don’t worry; nobody suspects a thing!” Then he clicks a button and the other voice is silenced. It really does look like a regular cell phone. A regular cell phone calling the commander of a space ship because Victor Nikiforov is definitely an alien that may or may not want to breed with Yuuri.

Yuuri feels distinctly light headed. A part of him wants to knock on the door and ask Victor what the hell’s going on. But the rest of him just wants to faint.

Way too late, Makkachin finally stirs. She ‘ruffs’ at nothing, rolls onto her back, then rights herself again and plods over to Victor. She looks very much like a regular Earth-poodle, except, perhaps, for the slightly odd proportions of her face. But Yuuri just assumed all dogs were different.

Almost too fast for Yuuri to catch, Victor pops the orb back into his mouth. Then he lifts his empty hands to scratch behind Makkachin’s ears, cooing in a singular, entirely normal voice, “You understand, right, Makkachin?” Makkachin ‘woof’s softly, as though she does, when she clearly doesn’t. Yuuri doesn’t. Victor smiles and offers Makkachin a warm hug. Slowly, Victor’s iridescent glow dissipates, until nothing’s left of the insanity.

It’s just a very attractive Russian man hugging his dog. Or maybe an alien. That likes Yuuri. Somehow, the second point almost eclipses the first point. Yuuri’s _so_ confused.

Finally, he stumbles back from the door. He decides he had too much sake at dinner—he’s drunk, and that’s the only explanation.

He wanders back to his room and falls asleep ridiculously quickly, and dreams of a planet of little green figure skaters that all have perfect butt cheeks.


End file.
